“Dicky,” I broke in on him, “get on with the story.  What the devil’s all this got to do with Francis?  The document—­”

“Steady, my boy!” was the imperturbable reply, “let me spin my yarn my own way.  I’m coming to the piece of paper....

“Well, then, old Urutius came to see me ten days ago.  All I knew about Francis I had told him, namely, that Francis had entered the army and was missing.  It was no business of the old Mynheer if Francis was in the Intelligence, so I didn’t tell him that.  Van U. is a staunch friend of the English, but you know the saying that if a man doesn’t know he can’t split.

“My old Dutch pal, then, turned up here ten days ago.  He was bubbling over with excitement.  ‘Mr. Allerton’ he says, ’I haf a writing, a most mysterious writing—­a I think, from Francis Okewood.’

“I sat tight.  If there were any revelations coming they were going to be Dutch, not British.  On that I was resolved.

“’I haf received; the old Dutchman went on, from Gairemany a parcel of metal shields, plates—­what you call ’em—­of tin, hein? What I haf to advertise my business.  They arrife las’ week—­I open the parcel myself and on the top is the envelope with the invoice.’

“Mynheer paused; he has a good sense of the dramatic.

“‘Well’, I said, ’did it bite you or say “Gott strafe England?” Or what?’

“Van Urutius ignored my flippancy and resumed.  ’I open the envelope and there in the invoice I find this writing—­here!’

“And here,” said Dicky, diving into his pocket, “is the writing!”

And he thrust into my eagerly outstretched hand a very thin half-sheet of foreign notepaper, of that kind of cheap glazed notepaper you get in cafes on the Continent when you ask for writing materials.

Three lines of German, written in fluent German characters in purple ink beneath the name and address of Mynheer van Urutius ... that was all.

My heart sank with disappointment and wretchedness as I read the inscription.

Here is the document: 

* * * * *

Herr Willem van Urutius,
Automobilgeschaeft,
Nymwegen.
Alexandtr-Straat 81 bis.

Berlin, Iten Juli, 16.

O Eichenholz!  O Eichenholz! 
Wie leer sind deine Blaetter.

Wie Achiles in dem Zelte.

Wo zweie sich zanken
Erfreut sich der Dritte.

* * * * *

(Translation.)

Mr. Willem van Urutius,
Automobile Agent,
Nymwegen.
81 bis Alexander-Straat.

Berlin, 1st July, 16.

O Oak-tree!  O Oak-tree,
How empty are thy leaves.

Like Achiles in the tent.

When two people fall out
The third party rejoices.

* * * * *

I stared at this nonsensical document in silence.  My thoughts were almost too bitter for words.